


just get to tomorrow

by Ironic_Swag7782



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Gen, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 04, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Romance, outsiders perspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:13:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28158114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ironic_Swag7782/pseuds/Ironic_Swag7782
Summary: Life goes on, and it goes on. In a little village in the Scottish Countryside, two young men become the talk of their boring little village. An outsider’s perspective.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 11
Kudos: 138





	just get to tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [a quieter tomorrow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23293501) by [aloneintherain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aloneintherain/pseuds/aloneintherain). 



I 

He and his dad are from the city, and exactly two months after the adoption is finalised, he suggests a holiday to the country. Francis had expected some low-budget Butlins resort in Bournemouth, but when his dad tells him he meant the Scottish Countryside, Francis is more confused than ever. Despite his reservations, he doesn’t hate the whole thing. 

The two men, Martin and Jon (whose names he keeps forgetting), who run the Bed n’ Breakfast are nice enough, if he rarely sees them both. The taller one, the ginger one with a smile like the sun, is around in the kitchen a lot. Baking, usually. Francis thinks he’s the type to bake; the sort of guy who’d wear kitschy aprons and sneak you extra icing from the cupcakes he’s making. 

Francis sees him spacing out sometimes, in the morning, but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what he’s seeing. 

One autumn morning, their third day (and last, but Francis isn’t upset) in Scotland, Francis is getting ready for their walk through town. His dad dresses him up warm with a coat that he thinks is a little overkill, and tells him to wait in the kitchen while he packs their bag. Jon is in there when he sits at the dining table awkwardly, unsure whether or not to make conversation as Jon stares out the window, presumably watching the chickens. 

Jon, doesn’t turn to look at him or even acknowledges him as Francis waits. He hears his dad clattering upstairs, and finds comfort in it. 

“Why a BnB?” Eventually, Francis decides to ask. 

“What?” Jon says, surprised, as though he’d just noticed him sitting there. Although Francis knows better. 

“I mean, you have an English accent. Are you from London? Why would you move from London to the middle of bumfuck nowhere?” 

If Jon’s surprised by a fourteen-year-old swearing, he doesn’t show it. 

“What’s it to you?” Jon eventually says, moving his eyes back to the window. 

“Whatever. I don’t care,” Francis retorts defensively. “Dunno why you’d want to hang around tourists anyway.” 

There’s a momentary pause before Jon responds.

“It helps, being around people,” Jon says, suddenly quiet. “For him, anyway.” 

“Helps --”

“Francis! Come on, we’re leaving!” His dad calls from just outside the kitchen, stepping into the room in those boots of his. “Oh, hello, Jon, wasn’t it? We’re just about to take off, thank you for keeping an eye on him.” 

He and his dad are quick to get out the door, and watches as the other man, Martin, appears from the staircase and Jon’s face changes, lights up. 

II 

Her dad walks her home from school every day, and walks her to school every morning. She likes it. Mum would always drive her, and dad would get mad when he found out that she’d not put her in a car seat again. 

Alicia doesn’t like it when her dad gets mad. 

“Dad, can I play with the chickens today?” She spots them before dad does, swinging on his arm. “I know you said no yesterday, but --”

“Alicia, no, they’re not ours. Sorry.” 

“Daaaaaaad! Please?” 

He shakes his head as they walk past the chickens, her throwing a forlorn look at the direction of the birds, shuffling around on the grass, occasionally pecking at the ground for… worms, she supposes. She doesn’t know what chickens eat, really. A boy at school told her they eat other chickens, but she really doesn’t like the idea of that. 

“Hey,” A voice comes from behind them, and it startles both her and her dad. He grips her hand tight, and she glances up, concerned. “Um, she can play with them if she wants. They’re not aggressive.” 

The voice, as it turns out, belongs to one of the occupants living at the address. He’s got a large metal dish in one hand, and is almost as ginger as her dad. If a little lighter. 

“Dad, please? Please can I?” 

Her dad looks between the man and her in slow, analytical glances, before seeing the excitement on his daughter’s face and giving in with a sigh. 

“Go ahead. But don’t forget your auntie’s coming for the weekend tonight, so not long, okay?” 

Alicia doesn’t hesitate, running over and scaling the fence, landing in the grass on her knees. None of the chickens seem to mind her presence, but don’t seem especially fascinated by her. They’re all swarming around the man’s legs, a flurry of colour and feathers, clucking as he attempts to worm his way through with the dish of what she assumes is food. Eventually, he throws the contents across the grass, and the birds scatter and quiet down. Alicia’s never seen anything like it before, she doesn’t think she’d even seen a chicken in person before. She saw a goose, once, at that petting zoo. 

“Gluttons, the lot of them,” The guy, kneeling down to her eye-level, but not invading her personal space, says. “They’d do anything for a handful of mealworms.” 

That makes her giggle, and she spots her dad smiling too, leaning over the fence. 

“Do they have names?” She asks. 

“Some of them. Like her -” He points at an all-black chicken, sitting in the dirt, cleaning herself. “That’s Sasha.” 

He has this smile on that she’s seen on her dad a few times, when someone asks him about mum, so she goes quiet. 

“Do you want to name one?” He asks, eventually, with this genuine smile on his face. 

She gasps in excitement, looking at her dad – who nods and smiles, throwing a thumbs up her way. One chicken, a blonde, almost orange, chicken with a white underside, catches her eye. Pointing at it, she tells him; 

“Apricot.” 

“Apricot?” The man’s got this amused smile on his face, and Alicia takes it as a win. 

“Apricot,” She nods. “’s my dad’s favourite jam. And mine!” 

“That’s – unique,” He says, and usually when adults say things like that, they’re just being nice, but Alicia gets this feeling he means it. “I like it. Apricot it is.” 

“Alicia, we gotta go, okay?” Her dad says, appearing from behind her. “Do you wanna come back and see Apricot? If it’s alright with…” 

“Martin.” Martin, apparently, says. “And she’s always welcome. They like the company.” 

And, the thing she’ll realise years later, is it wasn’t just the chickens that enjoyed the company. 

III 

They come in, a few times a week, usually to pay their electric, buy some bread, milk and potatoes. The tall one likes to bake, and cook, and always comes in, arms full of various flours, and the one with dark hair and odd scars tends to veer towards ready meals, tinned goods. Unless he’s with his… partner? Friend? Roommate? She’s usually extremely good at discerning people’s relationships, but it’s hard with these two. 

To say they were close was an understatement. In her eighty years, she’s seen closeness, and she’s experienced it – they have a connection, the sort of connection where they can have whole conversations, with just a look. Funnily, she finds the more people know each other, the less they have to talk.

She learns their names, on week two. 

“Just the marg today, Martin?” She asks, putting the price into the till. “Baking again?” 

“Yeah! It’s funny you should ask,” He tells her, taking out a few loose coins from his pocket. “It’s actually Jon’s birthday in a couple of days. He says no cake, he’s so stubborn about birthdays, but…” 

He carries this nervous smile, and Ms. Cottingham nods in understanding. 

“My husband was the exact same. ‘Don’t get me anything!’ he’d say, men, right?” 

Martin chuckles as he passes her the coins. “He can be fickle.” 

“Love them all the same though, right?” She asks, testing the water. 

There’s a pause, which would almost be funny, if she couldn’t feel his tenseness. “…Right. Love them all the same.” 

He leaves, and Ms. Cottingham feels more determined to make these kind boys, who’d clearly had life’s worst thrown at them, and make them feel darned welcome.

**Author's Note:**

> So I've had this sitting in my documents for a while, since I read a quiet tomorrow in... March? Or so? But I finally had some time to finish it, so here it is! Hope you enjoyed it! and hope you enjoyed the appearance of some of my OCs; Francis and his father (Nico, by the way!), and Alicia and her father (Shea). 
> 
> As always I'm on tumblr at videogabe, and as always thanks for reading!


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